DAWN PONDERING

I would tell you, Dearest, if I were not surrounded for seconds by a volcanic nervous disturbance, and perhaps my restless child-self would be a little calmer. At three in the morning the clattering of a freight train woke me, like a lonely shelter for suicides, and sleep was deliberately avoided. I tossed and turned on my towel, sweating and panting with beads with buckles, and never went back to sleep.

Wait! Don't get angry yet! How shall I begin, lest thou be offended again, and the Cleopatra charms of thy superstitious womanhood? I thought you must know me very well, and you remember how empty the contours of objects are without you, and how narrow the little street is, where the traffic rushes through at a mad pace. Your body, like a secret map, is still familiar.

A few drunken hooligan hooligans are puking and the greenish-yellowish bile of burnt spirits is gathering in a radiant puddle at their feet. They blaspheme themselves and the already cursed World, like false judges, false prophets, brainwashed and blind, they sit side by side, because the daily boorish rudeness of the public has fallen upon them in a stupor.

Gutted telephone booths yawn into panther-dark nights, and if you ask now, all Life is like a straitjacket room.The clicking of the clocks - even if they wanted to - has not yet ceased, nor can it bring comfort!

The house too sleeps, dazed and drowsy, Like a Turkish sultan drunk as a lord, And in some places dirty spots are dotted Like stigmata of stigma, dripping, in case it should collapse.

A few drunken hooligan hooligans are puking and the greenish-yellowish bile-litter of burnt spirits is gathering in a radiant puddle at their feet. They blaspheme themselves and the already cursed World, like false judges, false prophets, brainwashed and blind, they sit side by side, because the daily boorish rudeness of the public has fallen upon them in a stupor.

The house too sleeps, dazed and dazed, like a totally drunk Turkish sultan, and in some places dirty stains dotted like stigmata of stigma, in case it collapses. Soon, perhaps, it will be dawn indeed in the pitch-dark, the dazed shadows of the dawn's gloom have fallen silently by themselves...

Almost forty years! How these four decades have already passed! More and more the living and the dead come and go around me. So with a childlike vulnerability I confess to you, my dear, that I would do many things differently and differently in the finish! And you should have felt with your secret femininity and refined charms that I gave you my romance and my heart as a gift, because I foolishly thought that you would switch to mother tiger mode and we would guide each other through the twilight years together!